


Foot in the Door

by DevineMandate



Series: Fall, Bounce, Soar [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Post-Lethal White
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate
Summary: Dramatic circumstances re-insert Charlotte into Strike's life (circa the start of book 5).  Robin and Charlotte meet for the first time. And other unsavory things.
Series: Fall, Bounce, Soar [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557115
Comments: 84
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

“Crisps?” said Robin.

“Oh, go on, then,” said Strike.

They were having a brief, impromptu lunch at the office, a rarity given how busy and active they usually were on the job.

“Thanks for inviting me to Nick and Ilsa’s again last night at the last minute.” She smiled softly, happy to have been let in on a portion of Strike’s private life, to know that some of his close friends seemed to like her very much, apparently did not think of her surprise appearance as anything but welcome and fortunate.

“Of course, always wonderful to see friends getting on with friends.” He smiled, and Robin felt a pang. She still felt raw from the divorce proceedings with Matthew over the last few months, perhaps not ready for anything resembling romance, but she also was realistic. Strike had been single for several months. It would not last. Women liked Strike. She was going to have to say something soon, or risk watching him kiss women, risk knowing that he was sleeping with them. If that happened, there would be no loyalty to Matthew to absorb the jealousy anymore. She’d be up at night with it.

“What?” said Strike, looking too keenly at her face.

“Nothing. Cormoran, I…”

His mobile rang, and Strike rose to his feet, removed it from his pocket, and looked.

It was Charlotte. Calling him for the first time in years. He found himself answering, ready to toss her aside.

“Charlotte, don’t ever call me again, I’m blocking this number now.”

Robin tried not to show her shock, welcomed Strike’s hostility and dismissiveness toward Charlotte.

“Corm, I know what you’re thinking, but first, listen to me.”

“Charlotte, I’m not…”

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT US, JUST LISTEN FOR A MINUTE, PLEASE!” Strike was taken aback by the real fear in Charlotte’s voice, waited a moment as she fought for words through her rough, uneven breathing. “Bluey. Listen to me, Jago’s dead.”

Strike did not know what to feel. He had no affection to spare for Jago even leaving aside that Charlotte had married him to spite Strike, but he did not think she would lie about something so easy to verify, and he’d never wished death on Jago or widowhood on Charlotte. In the midst of all this was the thought that she was single again, and he was more repulsed than interested at the idea...but the interest was there, and he disgusted himself that this could cross his mind at such a time, that he’d consider coupling with her ever again in any fashion at all.

“He was murdered, Corm, and the police are sure I did it, I can tell. They haven’t arrested me yet, but they will.”

Robin watched as Strike sat down heavily, his eyes stunned and his chest heaving.

“Corm, you HAVE to help me. I’ll pay you! I’ll be just another client, I promise, but PLEASE, Bluey, I’m so frightened, and I DIDN’T kill him. Please. Please.”

Strike had a short war with himself. He didn’t think Charlotte was a murderer, nor did he think that (in this case) she was being all that overdramatic. He could verify the facts fairly quickly, and if the police did not pursue her with significant interest, he didn’t have to follow up on it. It meant opening a door to Charlotte, though, and that was dangerous no matter the intentions.

He had the thought that he could charge her ten times more than other clients and she’d never balk at the sums, but this was unethical and hence not going to happen.

Still, he felt enough empathy for Charlotte’s situation and enough history between them that he couldn’t really let her dangle in this situation when there might be something he could do about it. There had been nothing false about the way she had supported him, physically and emotionally, after his leg.

“All right, Charlotte. I’m so sorry this is happening to you. Yes, I’ll look into it.”

Robin’s heart squeezed painfully, her stomach awash in anxiety and dread.

“Oh, Corm, thank you! I know you’ll do right by me, thank you, I’ll send a check for whatever you want this minute.”

“We’ll talk about money later. Right now, I want you to come to the office, and talk this out in front of me and Robin, so we can all have our heads in the game.”

Robin tingled a little at the familiar use of her name in their conversation. Charlotte knew who she was, then...

“Of course, Corm, of course. I’ll tell you and your girl Friday everything you want to know.”

He locked eyes with Robin as he spoke. “She is NOT my girl Friday, she’s my partner. Now, come down here and let’s get this mostly-business-but-slightly-personal transaction rolling. No time to waste if the police are after you as rabidly as you think. I can make time in the day to talk to you in about forty-five minutes.”

“I’ll be there in thirty. Thank you, Corm, thank you. Thank you for being there when I really need you.”

He frowned. “See you soon, Charlotte.” He ended the call.

“So I’m going to meet her, then,” said Robin, feeling outside herself. “What happened?”

Strike looked up, off balance and wary. “Robin...Charlotte’s husband, Jago Ross, has apparently been murdered.”

Robin put her hand over her mouth, her eyes large and piteous. “Oh no. Oh, Cormoran, no.”

_She’s single again._

The thought bolted across Robin’s brain, scrambled her thoughts. What a disgusting thing to think at the death of someone’s husband. She forced herself to concentrate. “Why is she hiring us?”

“She says that she thinks the police suspect her, and they’d be fools not to, wouldn’t they, the spouse and all. I don’t even know how or where it happened, we’ll talk about that when she gets here.”

Robin remembered the flash of Charlotte’s incredibly beautiful face outside the building’s door as she'd nearly crashed into Robin, banished by Strike and fleeing to punish him with her absence. She saw Charlotte on his arm at the state affair with Chiswell. Had they talked about Robin?

“She knows who I am, then?”

Again, Strike looked wary. “She’s read about you in the papers anyway.” His eyes softened, and he smirked a little. “Actually, at the Prince’s to-do we went to, she saw me look at you, and said you were pretty. She essentially asked if that was the famous Robin, and I said no, that’s not her. Wonder if she’ll know I was lying now, ha!” His smirk widened.

It was such a decent thing to do, she thought, relaying that Charlotte had thought of her as pretty, letting her in on the conversation he’d had with Charlotte. It put her at ease to know she was the one in the inner circle, getting the truth about Charlotte from Strike, when Strike was lying about Robin to Charlotte. It also gave her a good deal more pleasure than it should have to know that Charlotte was probably jealous of Robin’s status with Cormoran and thought Robin attractive, perhaps even thought of her as a romantic threat...

Strike spoke again. “I’m going to see what I can find out from the police about this Jago business before Charlotte gets here. Will you see if the internet’s gotten hold of it yet?”

********

Charlotte’s knock was firm, her shaded outline tall in the window of the office door. Robin’s heart stood still and she felt sweat break out all over her as she sat at her desk.

Strike walked over and opened the door, not holding it for Charlotte, but moving aside to let her pass through.

Robin wiped her palms on her jeans, and rose from her seat as Charlotte entered and the two women stopped moving at the same time and looked at one another for a moment.

Robin crumbled just a little internally. Up close, Charlotte was beyond beautiful, her body exquisite. She could have been put in a group of famous models or Hollywood actresses, and she wouldn’t merely have fit in among them, she’d have been the brightest star. Both women were simply dressed, but Robin’s clothes spoke of labor, of seedy Tube stops and back alleys, while Charlotte’s spoke of leisure, of tennis courts and golf clubs. Neither woman wore heels, and Robin, to her meaningless but intense satisfaction, had an inch and a half on Charlotte. The look that passed between them was not openly hostile, but both women saw caution and ill will in the other’s face, and it felt even to Strike like the temperature in the office had dropped ten degrees.

Robin walked over, and stuck out her hand. “Robin Ellacott, pleased to meet you, Charlotte.”

For a moment, Charlotte simply looked at Robin’s hand as though she did not know what it was doing there, and it seemed like she might not reach out at all.

Then she gripped Robin’s hand with just slightly more firmness than necessary, and pumped it up and down once. Robin felt a literal chill as Charlotte manipulated her hand...Charlotte Campbell Ross’s skin was ice cold.

“Lovely to meet you as well, Robin,” said Charlotte, letting go of Robin’s hand. “A bit awkward, though, honestly. It’s a little bit like you’re the woman he left me for, only the woman he left me for is really the job, isn’t it?”

A warning growl from Strike. “Charlotte…”

“Sorry, Corm. It’s just...it’s been a long time since I’ve been up here. The last time I was here, I was upset, and it’s like the smells in this place just bring it right back. You remember that day, don’t you, Robin? I almost ran you right over, would have been a shame for our first meeting to end so poorly when our second meeting is the picture of cordiality.” Robin blushed.

Then in the midst of Robin’s discomfort, Charlotte’s eyes moved unhurriedly over Robin’s body, and Robin felt the same disgust that she might have if a man had given her the same lingering, odious look over his pint in a pub. She looked away.

“Yes,” said Robin. “Now that we’re acquainted, Charlotte, maybe you can tell us about what happened and we’ll see if we can help keep you out of prison.”

Charlotte’s self-assured front collapsed and true terror rose to the surface. “You have to help me, please, both of you. I didn’t do it! I swear, no matter what you think of me, I’d never have done anything like that. I’d have just left Jago, not bashed his brains in.”

Robin shuddered.

Strike spoke: “All right, Charlotte. First, tell me everything you know from the beginning.”

Charlotte took a deep breath, and as Strike looked down at his notes, Charlotte looked over at Robin and smiled with all of her teeth exposed, purely malevolent, and then she started to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be no real plot/mystery about Jago, interested in emotional beats not details. Makes my skin crawl to write Charlotte, though. She sucks so much. Christ.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 25% into book 5
> 
> This chapter bumped the story to E for me because Charlotte is gross.

Strike met Charlotte at a cafe to follow up on things he’d learned in his recent interviews. They discussed Jago’s family, friends, and employees, the people Charlotte thought most likely to have done it and why.

“I don’t think there’s any way Oglethorpe was in on it,” said Charlotte. “His and Jago’s camaraderie, especially when they were both deep in drink, was authentic.”

“Okay, Charlotte. I think that’s what I need for now.”

“Stay for one more coffee, Bluey? I’m sure I can think of something else that would be useful to you.”

“No, I need to get on my way. Need to pick up Robin from a different assignment.”

“How much do you think about fucking her?”

 _”What?”_ said Strike, knowing she was attempting to bait him, but still baited.

“How much do you think about fucking her?” repeated Charlotte with the exact same inflection. “Of _course_ you think about fucking her, she’s lovely, and frankly I’m a little jealous of her hair and her tits, I can see how much you like them, but I also know you won’t shit where you eat, eh, Corm? You can’t ruin a good thing--like keeping her in the office to stare at her arse--by actually screwing her.”

“Fuck’s sake, Charlotte, does it all have to be so foul-minded? I don’t keep her there to stare at her arse, I don’t _keep_ her anywhere. She’s a good detective fast on her way to becoming a great one, that’s why she’s in the office.”

“That’s high praise from you, Cormoran Strike; you’re not exactly lowering my jealousy quotient, here. So her arse is a bonus, the real reason you won’t screw her is because she’s good for the business. What a terrible dilemma.”

“Fuck you, Charlotte.”

“I notice you don’t deny that she’s lovely or that you like her hair, or her tits, or her arse.”

“Fuck off, Charlotte.”

“Bluey,” she said softly. “You don’t have to sit around being frustrated, wanking it in the lav every time Robin turns just so. There’s always me, and I’ve made that clear. I want you the moment you want me, and I _know_ you like my hair, and my tits, and my arse. I also know you have your pick of girls--they fall cunt first onto your cock, don’t they, and you don’t even try. But Corm. I can fuck you SO much better than they can, and you know it. I can have you shouting glory to God in the highest inside of two minutes if you’ll let me.”

“Stop it.” He shouldn’t have been interested, it shouldn’t have been getting under his skin.

“Don’t kid a kidder, Bluey. I can see the sweat at your temples. Are you thinking about when we made love in Paris and I wept in your arms? Are you thinking about the time I knelt in front of you and swallowed your cock in that empty Tube car? Are you thinking about the last time we made love when you pounded into me from underneath and we were both so angry?”

“I’m not.” But he was, of course. He was thinking about all of that and so much more.

“Think about it, Corm. You only have to ask.”

She walked out, leaving Strike uncomfortably turned on and filled with self-loathing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 35% into Book 5

“I don’t know, Vanessa,” said Robin.

Vanessa Ekwensi tried to convince her. “Robin, you’re not getting married, it’s a date. You’ve been separated for months and the official divorce is coming through soon, why not get out there?”

Robin glanced again at the online profiles that were spread before her on the page. Many of them reminded her unfavorably of Matthew; she almost wanted to avoid good-looking men.

_You know who you really want, why go through the discomfort of this charade?_

“Vanessa, the last time I was on a first date, I was 17. I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Robin, how are you going to be ready for a first date that actually matters to you if you don’t go on a couple that don’t?”

There was something to that, Robin thought. Maybe she _should_ go out with someone to break the ice before she considered…

“What’s the worst that could happen, Robin? You get a snog in and don’t call him again?”

Robin bristled. “No, Vanessa, the worst that could happen is that I get raped and murdered, believe me I know.”

Vanessa reared back, stricken: “I’m sorry, Robin, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But I think your chances of encountering a knife-wielding maniac are pretty low in this scenario.”

Robin weighed the idea a few times over. “You really think I should do this?”

“I’m not sure how much more fervently I need to say it before you believe me. Yes!”

“All right, all right, I’ll give it a go,” said Robin. She started to sift through the pile, trying to pick the least murdery looking men she could find.

“You won’t regret this, Robin,” said Vanessa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have the beats all planned now. 3 down, 6 to go. Well, I've actually written the last one, so 8 and 9 will go up at the same time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 50% into Book 5

With the Ross manor no longer a crime scene, Strike and Robin went to look around and consider logistics. Charlotte invited Robin in with more grace than she had demonstrated thus far to her, and was civil and informative throughout their stay. Robin thought she might be more unnerved by this cooperative, docile Charlotte than the vicious, poking creature she’d encountered up to now. Her personality was unpredictable.

Perhaps that was something Strike appreciated about her.

“The servants have done a very good job with the blood, I must say,” said Charlotte. “You’d never know a man had died so violently here.” She shuddered.

Robin spoke sympathetically, “It must have been terrible to find him.”

Charlotte looked at her, seemingly without malice, looking more vulnerable and human than Robin had seen her before. “It has been a lot to take. The twins dying not long ago with this on top...you know, I may not be the nicest person who ever lived, but contrary to popular opinion, I do have feelings.” A single tear ran down Charlotte’s face, perched picturesquely on her cheek bone.

“I’m so sorry, Charlotte,” Robin said with emotion, feeling a little small that she had not ever truly considered what Charlotte was going through.

“Thank you, Robin. You’re a really decent human being, to empathise with me when I’ve been so boorish to you.” Robin was struck by the similarity to Strike's description of her as a nice person the night he'd been so drunk during the Landry case.

Strike watched Charlotte and Robin--he was pleased by the general demeanour of their interaction, but he also knew the extent of Charlotte’s acting ability and willingness to manipulate people.

“Right, let’s have a look at what we haven’t seen of the place,” he said.

“Actually, I need the bathroom,” said Robin.

“Oh, of course,” said Charlotte. “Round the corner just there, make a right, then a left, then a right as soon as you can, and it’s the eighth door on the right.”

“Right,” said Robin. “Be sure to send a search party if I’m not back in a couple of hours.”

Charlotte laughed, and Robin smiled as she walked away.

“It’s no wonder you like her so much, Bluey,” said Charlotte after Robin had disappeared around the corner. “You deserve someone like her instead of someone like me.”

“Don’t start, Charlotte.”

“Corm,” said Charlotte and her lip trembled. “Was it always so bad, us? Weren’t there good times? Stealing my sister’s car, the trip to Scotland, our bad movie weekends?” 

“Charlotte, it’d be disingenuous of me to claim there weren’t good times, but allow me to remind you that the bad times were pretty fucking bad, and you lied to me constantly.”

“Never about the big things, Bluey. Never the big things,” said Charlotte, and she was silent for a long time before she spoke again. “Do you think we could ever be friends, Corm?”

“No, Charlotte, I don’t. I don’t think you have any interest in being my friend, for one thing, and I know how easy it would be to fall back into old patterns with you. When this case is over, it’s a clean break as far as I’m concerned.”

“You’re right, I don’t want you as a friend, of course I don’t. How could I stand it, having you so close and so far away?” She considered him. “Speaking of old patterns, I was surprised I couldn’t provoke you into a response, even with the picture I sent you from the wedding.”

“Radio silence will resume the moment this is over. I owe you for my leg, but the debt is repaid in full when Jago’s murderer is caught.”

“I deserve it, Bluey, there’s no doubt about that. But if you’re determined to cut me out of your life, at least after all this is settled, try to remember me like this instead of how it was right before we ended. With me just trying to talk to you instead of shouting and throwing things. It would give me some comfort to think of you remembering me that way, and goodness knows I could use some comfort these days.”

Robin reappeared, and they toured the rest of the house before Charlotte showed them to the door.

“Thank you both again,” she said as she prepared to close the door.

Then the wail of sirens was heard in the distance, and Charlotte froze.

“I told you, Bluey. I told you.”

Suddenly there were two police vehicles flying up the long drive that led to the Ross manor, and Charlotte’s face paled further than its regular cameo as men and women emerged from the vehicles to place her under arrest and charge her with Jago’s murder.

“Just find out who did it, Corm,” she said before the police were in earshot. “Help me, please.”

She went quietly with the police, and Robin and Strike watched her be taken away.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 60% into Book 5

The party at Nick and Ilsa’s was in full swing. There were better than thirty people there, and every last one, it seemed to Robin, was genuine and affable.

Part of her mood stemmed from the way things at the office had been recently. She wouldn’t let herself believe it absolutely, but she thought that Strike was looking at her differently these days, like his kindnesses had an element of chivalry and sometimes when he looked at her...she would swear that sometimes his expression almost smoldered, and she felt her femininity keenly under his intense gaze. He was definitely the man she wanted. If those two tepid dates she'd been on had taught her nothing else, she had confirmed that at least. 

Across the room, Strike had similar thoughts. Was he lying to himself? Hadn’t Robin been even warmer than usual, sought out small excuses to touch him, looked at him a little longer, blushed when he caught her looking? Surely he was exaggerating a few incidents into something bigger, and the fact was that any...romantic interaction he might dream of having with Robin was suicide for the business if it went beyond fantasy...and she probably didn’t want that anyway.

Still, he could swear…

Vanessa Ekwensi was suddenly embracing him and kissing his cheek. “How are you, Corm?”

“Great, Vanessa, good to see you. How are things?”

“Fantastic, old man. Hey, are you seeing anyone? I have a friend I’d love you to meet.”

Strike smirked. “Nothing on that front recently. And thank you, Vanessa, but I think I’ll stick to being a solitary bachelor for now. It suits me a lot of the time.”

“Not at night, though, I bet.” Strike laughed before Vanessa went on. “I’d never have bet on Robin getting back in the game before you. You should take a lesson from her and go on a date or two. A decade’s worth of heartbreak, and she’s out there trying again.”

The floor lurched under Strike. “What?”

“I just think it’s great that she’s seeing what’s out there, you know, trying to find someone even though she was hurt so badly.”

Strike looked across the room and saw Robin chatting animatedly with an attractive man her own age ( _ten years younger than me...and with two legs_ ). She smiled and laughed, and then she looked up and saw Strike watching her, and her smile grew larger as she waved at him.

Strike raised a hand automatically, but his expression was stern, and Robin flinched and seemed confused, and looked away.

“Yeah,” said Strike. “Great that she’s seeing what’s out there,” he repeated. His chest felt frozen; his head pounded.

“Tell me if you change your mind about my friend. I promise she’s fun and attractive. Going to get a drink, see you again in a few.”

Vanessa left, and Strike sat there, sadness and rage overwhelming him. He had read the signs all wrong--how could he have been fool enough to believe a woman like her could ever want a man like him?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 75% into Book 5

Strike was talking to Charlotte, plexiglass between them in the visiting booth.

She looked worse than he had ever seen her, her hair lank, her eyes lifeless and downcast, her head hanging. Charlotte had always been made of fire, a wrecking ball of energy flying pell-mell in who knew what direction, and despite all the bad blood between them, it wrenched his heart a little to see her so utterly dispirited, in prison garb, trapped unjustly.

“Charlotte, I think we’re getting closer. I think we’ll catch them, I’m almost sure of it.”

“That’s good to hear, Bluey,” she said without color or emphasis, not looking up. Then she raised her eyes to him as she spoke through the holes in the glass, “I’m allowed three 1-hour visits a week right now. If I’m convicted, I hear it’s two 1-hour visits every four weeks. You know...in some ways I hope you don’t find out who did it. Maybe then you’d consent to talk to me once or twice a month for an hour, instead of excising me from your life like a tumor, as you say you will when you find the killer.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous, Bluey. From my point of view, I have nothing left to lose right now except time with you. You set me free, and I go back to my empty life. You don’t, and my empty life is here instead; the cage is just more obvious, not gilded.”

“Just keep your chin up, Robin and I are throwing ourselves at this thing as hard as we can.”

“Thank you, Corm. Really. Thank you. Pass the same message to Robin.”

She went silent a while and then spoke again. “At the least, this has been a very educational experience. I mean, obviously I’ve been sheltered my entire life, and having all this happen to me...it makes me feel closer to you. Now I’ve been through some grief and terror and horror, like you have. I never really appreciated how much you’ve endured, Corm. You’re made of iron. I feel like papier-mâché by comparison, but I’m trying to be strong like you.”

He was surprised to find that he believed all of this--he had never seen her so uncloaked or introspective.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on as often as I can, Charlotte. I’ll be back.”

“Wait.”

She looked down and appeared to be thinking about what exactly she was going to say.

Then she lifted her head and spoke again--fervent and earnest: “Corm, even if I never get out of here, I want you to know that I know I never loved you right. Maybe it’s an excuse to say that coming from all the money crippled me emotionally, that the way I was raised never gave me a chance. But I love you so intensely, Bluey, so powerfully. I can’t love you right, I’m so broken, but I can love you passionately and I do love you passionately and I always will. Find a way to be happy, Bluey, you deserve it. Maybe all I’m getting right now is what _I_ deserve.”

She rose to leave, and then said her last, tears filling her eyes, pleading.

“Please forgive me, Bluey, I beg you, please forgive me.”

He watched her as she was escorted back toward her cell, more moved by Charlotte’s words than he could ever recall being during the sixteen years of their relationship.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 90% into Book 5

Strike nearly fell out of his chair as Robin burst into his office first thing on Thursday morning, shouting joyously.

“Cormoran, Cormoran, I’ve got it, I’ve got it!”

“Got what, Robin? What do you mean?”

“I know who did it! Who killed Jago Ross and framed Charlotte. Just consider this for a minute. What if Oglethorpe never left the manor at the end of the party that night?”

“We have half a dozen witnesses who say…”

“Yes, half a dozen witnesses who each have their own grudge, petty and not so petty, against Jago Ross, and there’s no love lost for Charlotte among them either. What if they’re _all_ lying, Cormoran? What if, in a sense, they all did it, planned it together anyway, and Oglethorpe was just the one who swung the hammer?”

Strike’s brain flew into overdrive as the pieces all fell together...if they were all lying to protect Oglethorpe, the mechanics of the murder made sense...and the awkward discrepancies in the head butler’s story compared to everyone else’s would have been because…

“ROBIN!” Strike’s shout sent Robin two steps backward. “Robin, you did it! You did it! Oh my Christ!”

He leapt out of his chair and charged at her. Her eyes widened in shock as he threw his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air, and he spun himself and her around in his joy, Robin’s legs flying through the air as he made two full circuits.

He brought her feet gently back to the ground, and put her at arm’s length, but with his hands still at her waist. “I’m so PROUD of you, Robin! Oh my God, you did it! Oh my God!” He pulled her in for another embrace and all but crushed her against himself, and this time Robin responded and flung both arms around his neck.

They pulled back and looked at each other, their hands still on one another.

Robin beamed, glowing with her triumph and his praise, her eyes wide and beautiful, and for one brief moment, a kiss hovered in the air. Strike nearly leaned forward and down.

_”You won’t shit where you eat.”_

_“I just think it’s great that she’s seeing what’s out there.”_

His smile dimmed, though it did not disappear, and he released her and disengaged from her arms and said more mildly, “Well done, Robin. Excellent work all around.”

Robin blinked, felt slightly deflated. “Thank you, Cormoran. I couldn’t have solved this case a year ago; you’ve been such an excellent teacher, and you’ve always been the best partner anyone could ask for.”

Strike thought: _But only in the professional sense; she just doesn’t see me that way--anyway, it’s best for us and the business to stay the way we are._

“You’re welcome, Robin.”

There was silence, and what should have continued to be a supremely joyful moment felt awkward and strained.

“Er,” said Robin. “I have to go soon and tail Fidget for the rest of the day, and just a reminder that I have an early stakeout tomorrow morning and I’ll need the pictures coming to the office this afternoon. I’ll pick them up very early in the morning, so you won’t see me until Monday.”

“Oh, right, of course, of course.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell the police everything we know and make sure all of them, Oglethorpe and the conspirators, get what’s coming to them, and I’ll give you proper credit everywhere for being the smartest person in the room.” The atmosphere softened some, but his eyes seemed sad to her when he said, “I admire you very much, Robin.”

“I admire you too, Cormoran.” Why should her heart ache so much? Was anything actually wrong? “I’ll give you a call later to hear how everything is going with Oglethorpe and company.”

“Thanks, Robin. Good luck with Fidget, and speak to you soon. Fantastic work.”

Robin headed downstairs--nameless, formless anxiety gnawing at her gut.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Circa 98% into Book 5

Strike limped back into his office at the tail end of business hours that same Thursday, his leg causing him more pain than the cuts and bruises he’d received during his fight with Oglethorpe. At some point, Oglethorpe had learned he’d been rumbled--one of his co-conspirators must have tipped him off before they were arrested--and had moved to silence the head butler permanently. Pursued and then trapped, the aristocrat had caught Strike by surprise from behind, and with slightly worse luck, Strike would have been in the morgue now instead of his office.

But Oglethorpe, though desperate and ruthless, was soft, unequal to the task of taking down a former soldier and boxer if the element of surprise was removed, and once Strike had been able to get a hand on Oglethorpe, the fight had been effectively over.

He collapsed into his chair, but he had not even really settled when his mobile rang.

Robin. He picked up. She was off and running before he could say a word: “Cormoran, don’t ever do that again! You can’t just run off and hurl yourself at the culprit every time you solve a case! Let me get involved; I could have backed you up.”

“First of all, you solved the case. Second, you were miles and miles away, Robin, and he was going to try to kill someone else. It was the most practical thing to do at the time, though I understand why you’re angry with me.”

“I’m not angry, Cormoran. I’m terrified that one of these times, you’ll go off half-cocked and get yourself killed. If you’re allowed to be worried about me that way, I can worry about you.”

Strike smiled. “Of course you can worry about me, but there wasn’t any choice this time. It had to be done.”

Robin was fond and exasperated at the same time: “You’re going to tell yourself that every time there’s the slightest chance someone could get hurt. Just don’t be a hero, Cormoran. I’d like our partnership to end with your retirement and not your death.”

“Retirement? I’ll never do that, the job is too interesting.”

“Well, try to hang on to that interesting job by not dying, all right?”

“All right, Robin, all right. Thank you for your concern about my well being. I will do everything in my power to include you on future unscheduled takedowns of murderers.”

She laughed. “Comforting as always. Well, I'll give you begrudging congratulations as well. Oh, and just leave the stakeout photos on my desk, would you? They did arrive, yeah?”

“You’re the one who deserves congratulations, and they did arrive, yes, the DHL envelope is on your desk and the contents look good."

"Thanks, Cormoran. Speak soon."

Strike rang off and collapsed again, and two minutes passed where he felt completely at peace. The job was done, and he had resisted the ludicrous urge to destroy everything he’d built up with Robin; their friendship and professional relationship was intact.

Then with one minute to the end of business, the door opened downstairs.

He had the feeling that an evil, lurking presence had slipped through cracks in his defenses, that a malignant figure would appear to ruin his life momentarily, an agent of Oglethorpe or his kind here to do what Oglethorpe could not.

But when the door opened, it was only Charlotte.

“BLUEY!” She ran over and practically yanked him out of his chair into an embrace. “YOU SAVED ME! YOU SAVED ME! OH, CORM!” She burst into tears, and sobbed into his shoulder at length, and he held her for several minutes.

She pulled away. “Thank you, Corm, thank you,” she said with watery eyes and a watery smile.

“It was really Robin who put it together. I was just the dumb muscle who broke Oglethorpe this time around.”

“Please tell her how much it means to me; I think it would be better coming from you than me. I can’t ever thank both of you enough.”

“Glad we could help, Charlotte. Old times’ sake and all that.”

Charlotte’s face fell. “I guess that’s it, then. You’ve saved me, and now it’s time to banish me again.”

Her head fell, and she sobbed once more, this time in distress and want. Then she lifted her head.

“Thank you again for saving me, Corm. It’s lovely that you could be my knight in shining armor before you vanish from my life. I’ll honor your wishes; you won’t hear from me again except to get a check for everything you’ve earned and more. I’ll never forget what you’ve done, or everything there was between us. It’s so much better, this ending, than the one we had before.”

She walked toward the office door and opened it, and went out.

She turned back, and her eyes overflowed again as she looked at him. “I love you, Bluey.”

She closed the office door behind her, and he heard her start down the stairs.

_Maybe she really has changed. Maybe all this has taught her something._

_Don’t do this, Strike. You know what a terrible idea this is. It’ll only end the same way it always did._

_I can’t have Robin. Can’t I at least have someone who loves me?_

He hurtled toward the office door, opened it, and shouted down the stairs.

“Charlotte, wait!”

Charlotte turned at the bottom of the stairs and looked up. First, her face was hopeful, and then she saw Strike’s expression, and her incredibly beautiful face changed into the picture of happiness, her smile gorgeous, her eyes radiant, and she threw herself headlong up the stairs back to Strike, the inevitable mirror of her manic descent years ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry!


	9. Chapter 9

Robin arrived at work before dawn the next morning to get the photos from the office before heading to the stakeout. She came quietly through the door (with Strike presumably asleep upstairs), then saw the door to Strike’s office was open and his office lit, quiet stirrings coming from within. Robin raised her eyebrow--Strike wasn't usually up at this hour except if work called for it.

She prepared herself a mug of tea using the last of their current supply, and then walked toward Strike’s office to say a quick good morning before she headed out.

Robin rounded the corner of the doorway, and looked in.

She saw her nightmare brought to life, and her heart seized in her chest so painfully that she felt for a moment as though it might literally be a medical emergency, like she was going to seize or have a stroke.

Strike and Charlotte were fully clothed but deeply entangled, their tongues visibly entwined. Strike had his left hand on Charlotte’s waist and his right on her breast. Charlotte had one arm wrapped around his neck and shoulders and her other hand squeezed Strike’s arse. They writhed and molded together with the familiarity of old lovers, falling back into physical interactions that they knew pleased one another--Strike’s hand lifting her leg at the knee, stroking her thigh under her skirt as he explored every corner of her mouth, Charlotte reaching for Strike’s belt as she responded enthusiastically with her own tongue. For Robin, it all had the look of a filthy dance, Charlotte and Strike picking up from the exact beat where they’d stopped.

_Like riding a bike. Like riding a...like riding...like riding a cock._

Robin flexed her fingers involuntarily, and dropped the porcelain mug. It exploded on impact, and scalding tea splashed onto Robin’s leg and she shouted and reached for her ankle.

Strike and Charlotte both looked up. Their faces transitioned from surprise quickly, Strike’s to concern (and, was she imagining it, guilt?), Charlotte’s to a cool, distant smirk, her eyes dancing.

“Robin, are you all right?” said Strike.

“I’m fine, sorry, it’s nothing, I...I’m sorry I interrupted…”

“I’ll bet you are,” said Charlotte.

“Don’t, Charlotte,” said Strike, and he turned back to Robin. “I forgot you were coming in early, it completely slipped my mind, I’d never have…”

“It’s fine,” said Robin, thankful that the burn on her leg was distracting her a little from the ripping and tearing in her chest. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I’ll clean this up.”

“No, I’ll get it Robin,” said Charlotte. “It was unkind, what I said just now, especially after everything you’ve done for me, saving me from prison. Corm told me you were the one who put it all together and let me out. You clean yourself up and get ready for the day.” She went to the cleaning supply area ( _she’s so familiar with this place, like she’s familiar with him_ ) and grabbed a hand brush, a dust pan, and a rag, and bent her dark, beautiful head to the task.

_She doesn’t want points with me, she doesn’t care tuppence what I think, she wants points with Cormoran._

Charlotte did the job quickly, soaking up the tea, making short work of the shards on the floor with vicious, efficient strokes, energetically ensuring all the porcelain was gone from the floor, and dumping it into the rubbish bin. Robin felt like Charlotte was cleaning up and binning her shattered heart.

Strike walked toward the office door as he spoke, “Thank you, Charlotte. Robin, I’m going to go upstairs and get you another tea. Charlotte, I’ll see you tonight.” Robin’s knees nearly buckled. _I’ll see you tonight, I’ll feel you tonight, I’ll lick you tonight, I’ll be inside you tonight._

_Have they had sex already?_

_I think we can be pretty sure they’re going to tonight if they didn’t last night, and anyway, why else was she here so early? They probably haven't slept at all in the euphoria of reuniting._

_They’d clearly gotten dressed and then decided to go another round after coming downstairs. She was taking off his belt, pretty sure it wasn’t because he doesn’t know how._

Bile rose in Robin’s esophagus, and she choked it down and said, “Thanks, Charlotte.”

“Of course, anytime! Now you take care of Corm today, won’t you? You and I are going to be like divorced parents fighting over him, aren’t we? You get weekday work hours, I get nights and weekends. Share and share alike, right? Well, maybe not _quite_ alike. Thank you so much for setting me free! Ta, Robin!”

Charlotte stowed the cleaning supplies, and left without another word.

Robin had not moved since the tea had stopped burning her, and she had no inclination to move now. She had the stakeout to head to, she supposed, but what was a stakeout now? It was like trying to go to your job after a hydrogen bomb had levelled the city.

_But this is all I have now, the job is what there is._

_Strike’s still your friend, isn’t he?_

_Is he? Can he be? With_ her _in the picture? Not so sure about that._

She heard Strike approaching, and rushed to make herself not look sullen, or miserable, or heartbroken, which was hard work since she was all three of these things.

“Here you go, Robin,” he said and he handed her the tea, made just the way she liked it.

_Not much of a consolation prize, is it, a cuppa?_

To her dismay and shame, she nearly burst into tears, but she forced the hot lump in her throat down into the same place where her stomach churned and roiled, just below where her heart smashed against her ribs again and again as though trying to kill itself.

She put the tea down. “I have to go. Work.”

“Oh right, yeah,” said Strike. “Robin, I’m sorry, I…”

“Don’t, Cormoran. It’s fine. I should have knocked. I will going forward.”

“No, I won’t let it happen again, and if it's necessary for scheduling things, I’ll tell you if she’s going to spend the evening here, just in case.”

_Can’t wait for you to give me a heads up so I can know that you two are going to be fucking. Like leaving a sock on a doorknob._

She was going to cry very soon.

“I’m going to go, Cormoran. I’m sorry again.”

She snatched the photos from her desk, and left the office without turning around, and he did not try to stop her, thank God. She made it into the street and walked along under the lights and kept herself from looking back at the window upstairs as tears rolled, hot and fast and constant, down her face, some of them onto her mouth as she would not wipe her face until she was definitely out of his sight. She made it to the end of the block and rounded the corner. Then she leaned against a wall and began sobbing in earnest, the taste of her own tears on her lips, alone in the dark before the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this far! If this story was at all effective, I hereby apologize once again.
> 
> Since you’ve come with me up to now, I hope you won't mind a message from me to you, constant reader, regarding what you just read, if you'll bear with me for just a minute.
> 
> There's a videogame called VVVVVV (as you may well know) where each room/screen has a name/title. Two subsequent rooms in it are titled like the two lines after this paragraph. They feel to me like a message from the designer to the player, and although that message is most directly applicable to videogames, I think it’s a pretty good summation of a creator's relationship with their audience (much of the time, at least), no matter the medium, if the creator is doing the job properly (and JKR is most DEFINITELY doing the job properly). So if you found this story effective, here's my message to you:
> 
> "I love you.
> 
> That’s why I have to kill you."
> 
> I’ll give you some peace offerings/palate cleansers via past works (some of you have probably read all this stuff, but if you haven't…).
> 
> [This story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307319/) of mine deals with Robin’s feelings (and to a lesser extent, Strike’s conduct) during the time that he is with Charlotte, set about two weeks after the events of this story. I think I might consider this my best work on the Archive. Gets in, gets out, does the job it sets out to do...I think I write jealousy well. It's more of a palate cleanser than that all might make it sound. 
> 
> Just want a plain old happy ending? [Here you go.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16963029/chapters/39864315) Set about four weeks after the events of this story. (Read it after the previously linked story for a relatively smooth transition from sadness to happiness.) I think the final chapter’s a bit overwrought in retrospect, but still good! (The story is quite explicit sexually.)
> 
> How about several plain old happy endings? I will again (as I have in one of my other stories) link you to some of my very favorite stories where our two favorite people get everything they deserve. Thanks again to these authors for giving me so many warm fuzzies and so much joy.
> 
> [The Best Revenge by lindmea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066181/chapters/24677070) (sexually explicit)
> 
> [ You Measured Your Thumb Against Mine by Fox_in_the_snow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16720554)
> 
> [Cracks in the Wall by SuperVi](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16297931)
> 
> ["It's too soon." by LulaIsAKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15637896)
> 
> [late night questions, midnight answers by lovebeyondmeasure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484463)
> 
> [It's OK. I couldn't sleep anyway by Blue_Robin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695025)
> 
> If JKR could please avoid Strike/Charlotte being a thing again, that’d be great. But as you might surmise, I'm not hopeful. There are too many references to Robin's muted jealousy of Charlotte in Lethal White for me to believe that JKR won't ramp it up hard going forward, plus it’s a simple, effective mirror structure. 1-2-3-4: Matthew. 4-5-6-7?: Charlotte.
> 
> Finally: I’m not sure at all when it will be (I don’t have a framework/plot in mind yet or anything) or really even if I’ll go through with it, but I think I’d like to indulge in more fluff after all this "fucking angst" and "trying to make Charlotte not _completely_ a monster even though I want to". I’ll see if I can find another way to make these two oblivious morons stop avoiding happiness.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Branching Fork](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21782506) by [DevineMandate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevineMandate/pseuds/DevineMandate)




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